


Bonfire

by keycat



Series: Made of Steel [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, M/M, Some Fluff, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycat/pseuds/keycat
Summary: Alternate timeline where Danse doesn't leave the Prydwen after discovering he's a synth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy what have i done lol, my poor boys can't ever catch a break
> 
> Will I ever stop writing different spins on what is essentially the same story? Probably not. Danse's character arc was a dropped ball if I ever saw one.

_ Unbreakable. Unyielding. Nothing can destroy steel. _

_ Nothing, except fire. _

 

Maxson had only ever built a fire once in his life. When he was very young, in the Capital Wasteland, a paladin had given her life defending the citadel from super mutants; torn apart just outside the front gate. Maxson had heard her last words, even though he hid behind a pile of sandbags, clamping his hands to his ears.

_ “Don’t open it! Don’t open the gate! Ad victorium! Ad vic--” _

The super mutants did everything they could to tempt the knights to open the gate, but they’d stood by, their faces drawn with grief. They’d had to listen to her tortured screams until she finally died and the mutants lost interest, scattering her remains across the concrete. Maxson had been sent with the troop that gathered what was left of her and incinerate her remains, he’d been the one sent to gather anything flammable he could find, despite his protests. He wanted nothing to do with it, but he’d been given no choice.

This fire was nothing like that one. 

The Commonwealth had seen less of the concrete expansion the Wasteland had in pre-war times, leaving it much greener, so to speak. Dry, dead trees, surrounded by thriving plants that had adapted to the radiation, were a common sight, which made building a roaring bonfire that much easier.

He tossed a stick onto the blaze and sat down, shedding his coat in the intense heat. No doubt it’d be seen from the Prydwen. They could think whatever they wanted of it, he didn’t care. He’d been taking that attitude a lot lately, if he was being honest with himself. It was hard not to, though. Things had come up that had left him somewhat...distracted.

 

The air was chilly in the waning light, but it would be some time before the elder or his paladin would feel the need to retreat into the Prydwen. They sat with their backs resting against the gondola, overlooking the Commonwealth from the forecastle, Maxson with his arm draped over Danse’s shoulders, Danse clasping Maxson’s hand with both of his. Neither of them had deemed it necessary to wear their flight suits, instead, both had opted to dress more casual in loose-fitting pants and threadbare T-shirts they’d found and taken a liking to. They found that they came off much more easily than their flight suits, which, while neither of them would admit it out loud, they greatly preferred.

“It’s underground somewhere,” Danse said, watching the last of the sunlight creep infinitesimally closer to the west.

“The Institute.”

“Mmhm.” Danse gestured over the ruins of Boston. “Where do you suppose it is? When we destroy it, what part of the city will we take with it, do you think?”

Maxson shrugged. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter.”

“I know.”

“Wherever it is, it has to be destroyed, regardless of what it’s under.”

“Right.”

The two remained silent, watching the sunlight fade to a brilliant red glow, illuminating the hull of the Prydwen in a deep bronze hue.

“Arthur,” Danse said after a few minutes. “I need to ask you something...personal.”

Maxson shifted his body so that he could turn and look Danse in the eye. “What is it?”

Danse squeezed Maxson’s hand, and his eyes flicked between Maxson’s and the Commonwealth. “How long do you think we can keep this up for? I’ll be honest and admit I never expected it to last as long as it has, which, make no mistake, I’m eternally grateful for, but...can we really expect this to go on forever?”

“As long as I have anything to say about it,” Maxson said, taking Danse by surprise and planting a soft kiss on his lips, leaving him mildly starstruck. “This is going to last for as long as the two of us live. That’s a promise.”

 

Maxson scrubbed one of his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. He’d apparently cut himself in collecting wood for his fire, and hadn’t even noticed.

_ It doesn’t matter. _

No, there was really only one thing that mattered to him. Only one thing in the Commonwealth that was worth fighting for. He hadn’t realized exactly what things were going to become between him and Danse at first; if he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t even expected the then-knight to ever reciprocate his feelings, so he’d kept them firmly tamped down. But then he’d become elder, and of course, then he’d been someone worth talking about. He could have had any knight he wanted, but he’d fallen in love with Knight Danse the minute he first laid eyes on him. He’d admit it, he was head-over-heels for the man.

And, somehow, unbelievably, Danse had felt just as strongly for Maxson, maybe even more so. He’d taken more bullets for Maxson, stuck his own neck out more times than he could count, nearly lost limbs, nearly died, all under the same pretense: “ _ for Elder Maxson”. _

There was nothing the two of them couldn’t handle, that’s what they’d led themselves to believe. The Brotherhood of Steel was an unstoppable force, and the two of them were its undisputed immovable objects.  _ Unbreakable. Unyielding. Nothing can destroy steel. _

 

“Oh, my God,” Danse gasped. He twisted and yanked at the handcuffs holding his arms above his head, spread eagle, to his power armor dock. Maxson wrapped one large hand around Danse’s neck from behind and tilted his head back, using his other to stroke Danse’s cock, torturously slowly, as was Maxson’s way.

“Someone’s going to hear if you’re not quiet,” he hissed in Danse’s ear.

“Yes, sir. I apologize.” Danse repressed a groan that threatened to slip from his throat; instead, he screwed his eyes shut and turned his face to the ceiling, trying hard to just focus on keeping his breathing steady.

“If someone comes out here and sees you, I’m leaving you here all day tomorrow, do you understand?”

“I understand, sir,” Danse said, breathless. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from making any noise, but Maxson was  _ relentless _ . He was biting Danse’s shoulders, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises, all while still vigorously pumping Danse’s cock. He wanted so badly to make Danse whine, to scream his name, really. What he wouldn’t give to see his paladin strung up, gloriously naked for all to see, for an entire day. The thought alone was enough to make him even more aroused than he had been in months.

Maxson could feel Danse’s body growing tense; he switched hands, now trailing the hand slick with pre-come over Danse’s jaw, slipping his first two fingers into Danse’s mouth.

“Suck,” he commanded, and Danse obliged. He savored the feeling, imagining what it would feel like to fuck the soldier’s mouth, to feel his tongue on the rest of his body. He moaned softly and pressed his painfully tight erection into Danse’s backside, who grunted and squirmed, fighting his every instinct to stay quiet.

“I want you to come, now. That’s an order,” Maxson snapped in Danse’s ear, yanking his hand free.

Danse ground his teeth and flexed hard against his cuffs, his orgasm racking his body as he came, drawing thick, white lines across the floor. His cuffs squealed in protest under the immense pressure; the veins in his arms stood out prominently, but the steel still remained unbroken when Danse let his body hang slack against them, letting his head droop, his chin resting on his chest.

Maxson wiped his hand across the thin dusting of hair over Danse’s chest and fished the key to the cuffs from his pocket. As soon as Danse was free, he collapsed to the floor in a heap, rubbing his wrists and breathing heavily.

“Come on,” Maxson said softly, his tone having immediately changed. He pulled his shirt off and threw it over the mess on the floor, dragged it across the whole thing with his foot and then hoisted Danse up by the arms.

He led Danse back to his quarters, depositing him swiftly onto his bunk and sitting down beside him in the dark.

“Thank you,” Danse said, allowing Maxson to grind his thumbs against Danse’s palms and over his wrists, getting the blood flowing again. 

“You don’t have to say that after every time,” Maxson said, suppressing a small smile and actually having to stop himself from rolling his eyes good-naturedly. Deep down, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of Danse’s constant affection, and he suspected that Danse, somehow, knew that.

“I wanted to thank you...for everything, though. I mean that,” Danse said, suddenly taking Maxson’s wrists in his own hands. “I...just want you to know...I don’t think I could live without you.” He reddened slightly, but pulled Maxson into a deep kiss that he was content never to surface from.

“You won’t have to,” Maxson said quietly when he came up briefly for air. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.” He allowed Danse to push him onto his back and rest atop his chest, resuming his slow, steady assault.

“I just think...I think I’m in love with you,” Danse murmured against Maxson’s mouth, reddening even further, praying that it wasn’t noticeable in the dark.

Maxson wrapped his arms around Danse, taking an indescribable pleasure in the feel of the hard muscles of his back, knowing that it, and everything else, was his. “I  _ know _ I’m in love with you.”

 

A radstag doe was coming up the hill, inching closer to the fire, and Maxson mentally dared it to come closer. His rifle lay discarded somewhere a few meters away, he wasn’t sure where, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going back for it anyway. No, he would take this doe on armed only with a combat knife. He only wished it was a male, something larger, something angrier, something that would be a challenge. As it stood, he was confident he would tear this creature apart. His knife may only slow him down.

The doe seemed to realize that it was in danger and suddenly scurried off, back into the trees. It was all for the better anyway, Maxson figured.

It seemed that nature had evolved to sense danger. Somehow, animals and other similarly dumb creatures seemed to be able to sense when something was amiss. Maxson hadn’t moved, hadn’t made a single gesture to suggest that the doe’s life was in danger, but somehow, it  _ knew  _ what lurked within Maxson.

Humans hadn’t evolved this trait. Maybe it just hadn’t had time to develop yet. After all, the biggest danger in the Commonwealth had only been so for a short amount of time. Humans needed a lot more time than that to evolve.

 

“Sit down.”

Maxson turned from his desk in time to see Captain Kells force Danse, whose hands were cuffed in front of him, into one of the flimsy chairs seated around the table in Maxson’s quarters.

“What’s going on here?” Maxson said, noting the seriousness of Kells’ expression. He looked to Danse, but the paladin refused to make eye contact. Had Kells discovered what was going on between him and Danse?

_ No,  _ Maxson thought, looking between the two. The anger in Kells’ eyes was unmistakable. This was something far worse.

“I think you’d rather see for yourself,” Kells said, passing a holotape to Maxson, who took it and turned it over in his hands.

“What is this?”

“Just read it.”

“Then, you’re dismissed,” Maxson said, gesturing for Kells to leave. “I’ll handle whatever this is on my own from here.”

Kells shot Danse a final glare, and then saluted Maxson before turning and leaving.

“What’s going on?” Maxson said as soon as the door clicked shut behind Kells.

Danse sighed softly. “I think...you had better just read that holotape.” He still refused to look Maxson in the eye, and a knot of dread was building in Maxson’s chest.  _ What the hell’s going on? _

He pushed the tape into his terminal and sat back, waiting for it to load. Whatever it was, he was sure, it was just some kind of misunderstanding. Danse would never…

_ This is from the Institute? _

Maxson’s brow furrowed as he took in the lines of text scrolling across his screen, trying to make sense of them.

_ Some sort of list… _

Maxson swallowed hard and scrolled through the list, unsure of what he was going to find, unsure that he  _ wanted  _ to find what a growing, nagging sensation in the back of his mind was telling him he was going to find.

A terrible anxiety was threatening to tear Maxson apart if he didn’t find out what exactly he was looking for. If he didn’t find out what was going on, and soon--

There it was.

_ Escaped synth. Designation: M7-97. Given designation: Paladin Danse. Location: unknown. _

Maxson read the same line over and over, unable to comprehend what he was reading.

_ Danse isn’t a synth. He can’t be. There’s no way. I would know. He would know. He would have told me. I know him better than that. This is a poor attempt at comedy. _

“Where did this come from?” Maxson demanded, rounding on Danse, who flinched back, sending a harsh jolt of rage through Maxson. What had Kells done to him?

“It came from the Institute. Charlie downloaded the file herself. She just got back with it.”

_ No. She must have turned on us while she was down there. Or they killed her and replaced her with a synth. It’s the only explanation. _

“Quinlan’s already gone through my medical records,” Danse continued.

“No. Stop. Listen,” Maxson said, but Danse ignored him.

“He checked and double checked, even had Cade do another blood test on me, to be sure--”

“Danse,  _ stop--” _

“Everything matches, it’s all--”

“ _ Danse!” _ Maxson roared, bringing his fist down on the table, only moderately startling Danse. He looked up at Maxson through his lashes, his dark eyes completely devoid of the emotion Maxson usually saw there. “Listen to me. This is obviously--it can’t be real, it’s not possible. Charlie could very well be a synth, she could--”

Danse shook his head and looked back down at his lap. “No. That list--it contains things she’d have no way of knowing or accessing. I’m afraid it’s legitimate, Arthur.”

“No,” Maxson said simply.

“Arthur, it’s right there in black and white, there’s no denying--”

“ _ Then what the fuck am I supposed to do without you?!” _ Maxson reared close to Danse, their faces only inches apart, and Danse gave a small shrug. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back.

“I don’t know, Arthur. I just don’t know.”

 

“You can see the Prydwen from here,” Danse said, standing on the hill, leaning against one of the trees that were scattered across it, a Brotherhood flag draped across his shoulders. “Whenever I traveled with Charlie, that was the one thing I looked for, everywhere we went. It was like a beacon of hope. As long as it stayed hovered there, above the airport, the Commonwealth stood a fighting chance.” He turned and walked to Maxson’s side, who was standing further back in the trees, his arms crossed, his face taut with stress.

“Danse,” he said, embracing his paladin, taking in his heavy scent of sweat and steel. “What am I going to do?”

“You know what you have to do,” Danse responded, burying his face in the juncture between Maxson’s neck and shoulder, resting his cheek on the fur of his jacket.

Maxson could feel his legs giving out; he sank to the ground, bringing Danse with him, both dropping to their knees, the flag falling to the ground behind Danse.

“I can’t live without you, Danse. I can’t.”

“The Commonwealth needs you,” Danse said, holding Maxson tighter.

“Commonwealth be damned. The Brotherhood, too. I don’t give a shit for any of it without you.” Maxson rocked back onto his haunches, his hands firmly on Danse’s shoulders.

“You and I both know that’s not true. Your soul was forged from eternal steel. The Brotherhood--”

The look on Maxson’s face made Danse shut up immediately. “I am the last of the Maxsons and that is  _ it _ .” 

“And you need to make them proud.” Danse kept his eyes on Maxson’s, reached behind him to pick the flag back up, and draped it over Maxson’s shoulders. “Make me proud.”

“I don’t need their pride,” Maxson said, shrugging the flag off and standing up, stomping further off into the woods again. “Danse, I  _ know  _ what has to be done. But...how could you not  _ know _ ? All synths know, they’re infiltrators--”

“I don’t know why I’m different. The Railroad may have had something to do with me. But that doesn’t change anything.”

“I know it doesn’t change anything.” Maxson’s shoulders sagged, and he drew his rifle, checking the magazine to be sure it was loaded. He sighed and turned his head to face Danse again, still on his knees. “You know I don’t care what you are.”

Danse offered Maxson a slight smile. “And I appreciate that. It means more to me than you know.” He spread his arms wide, inviting Maxson to return, and Maxson did, trudging through the hardpack and wiry scrub to collapse into Danse’s arms once more.

“It’s getting dark,” Danse said into Maxson’s shoulder. “It’s unsafe to be traveling alone in the Commonwealth after dark.”

“Let the Commonwealth throw whatever it wants at me. I don’t give a fuck,” Maxson responded.

Danse briefly tightened his embrace one last time, then leaned back and took the muzzle of Maxson’s rifle and pulled it up to his chest, giving Maxson a look that was equal parts fear and resignation. He let his hand drop to Maxson’s, which was readied on the trigger, and tried to keep from trembling. He took a deep breath, then let it out. “Arthur…” he whispered. “I’m scared.”

Maxson could feel his heart breaking; he had never wanted to be the reason for Danse to be afraid of anything. “Don’t be,” he said, pressing his lips gently against Danse’s.

Danse couldn’t stem the tears as he kissed Maxson back. He could feel them cutting thick trails in the grime over his face, then felt Maxson’s beard scrub them away. He drank in Maxson’s scent, his taste, the way he brushed his tongue against his own. If there was an afterlife in store for him, he never wanted to forget a single aspect of the elder.

Maxson pulled the trigger, the rifle kicked back into his stomach, and Danse seized. He hadn’t expected it to  _ hurt  _ so much. He involuntarily gripped Maxson painfully tight, his breath caught in his throat, and Maxson wrapped his arms around him, tossing the rifle off into the scrub somewhere.

“I’m so sorry,” Maxson stroked Danse’s hair, trying to hold onto his hand, but it was clammy, and shaking, hard; Danse didn’t seem to have any control over it anymore. Maxson carefully lowered him to the ground, flat on his back, and wiped away some of the blood Danse was rapidly coughing up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeated, over and over, holding Danse’s trembling hands in place on his chest, just over the gaping wound that, thankfully, wasn’t pouring blood like Maxson was afraid it would have. “God, I love you. So much, Danse.”

Danse put the last of his effort into trying to sit up, he tried to prop himself up on his elbows but his arms were shaking too hard; Maxson slipped both hands under Danse’s shoulders and lifted him onto his lap, situating his head in the crook of his leg. He wiped away more blood and skimmed his knuckles over Danse’s beard. He was paling, and his eyes were becoming unfocused.

“Ad victorium, soldier,” Maxson said quietly, unsuccessfully holding back tears of his own. “Ad victorium.”

 

The fire was burning lower, and dawn was almost breaking. Maxson was running the flag between his fingers, unsure of what his next move would be. The idea of going back to the Prydwen, going about his day like nothing was wrong, was absolutely sickening. He already knew that the first knight to clap him on the back and congratulate him on doing the right thing was getting thrown off the flight deck, power armor and all. To think that none of his men could even begin to understand what he’d done here, to think that they would actually be  _ happy  _ about what he’d done.

He stood and folded the flag the best he could, in the way he’d seen pre-war flags folded into triangles and stored in cases. It was sloppy, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore. He tossed the flag onto the pyre, kicking up a cloud of ash and embers that floated off into the morning sky.

He would let the fire burn, he decided, turning his back to it and walking away. It could spread, for all he cared. It could burn the entire Commonwealth down. There was nothing left in the Commonwealth worth saving, he thought, draping Danse’s holotags around his neck.

Nothing.


End file.
